


Lost Girls

by HessianLikeTheBoot



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy - J. M. Barrie, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison and Stiles are Siblings, Alternate Universe, BAMF Stiles, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Peter Pan AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HessianLikeTheBoot/pseuds/HessianLikeTheBoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Wendy," he continued, in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, "Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys."</em> -- Peter and Wendy, J.M. Barrie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Girls

  
_Of course the Neverlands vary a good deal... Wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents..._ \-- Peter and Wendy, J.M. Barrie 

  


Stiles waited in the drafty old nursery, surrounded by lit candles and happy to bide his time for another night. 

While the old manor had passed out of the family's hands long ago, No. 14's architectural pedigree had earned it a place on Bloomsbury's historical registry. Stiles had taken the house tour for the fifth time hours ago, slipping away during the library slideshow presentation to unlock the nursery's big casement window. That the window faced the garden was another stroke of luck: it meant no one saw Stiles creep back into the building via the '30s-addition drainpipe, even in the spotlight of a full moon. 

That the location might not have mattered, Stiles was aware, as the girls seemed to be found no matter the country. But as far as he knew this room had been where it all started, and according to everything he'd read such symmetry could only help. 

Just before midnight, a dark shape darted through the window to dance against the ceiling. 

Stiles took a breath, and reached for the little sewing kit on the floor beside him. 

"Come back here!" The second figure through the window was also dark, but quickly resolved itself into a boy. Twelve, thirteen? As he darted around the room, chasing his shadow, Stiles made out the black hair, the leaf clothing. The figure didn't stay constant, though; sometimes he looked more like a man than a boy. Once, crouched in the far corner, he resembled nothing so much as an animal, all long muzzle and big paws. Stiles realized that this was the shadow's fault -- every time it sprang it re-sized, reshaped itself, and the boy shifted to match. 

No wonder he was so keen on catching it. 

Stiles didn't speak until the boy had his shadow by the neck, wagging a stern finger at it. 

"I could sew that for you," he said. "Then you wouldn't lose it." 

The boy glanced over, supremely indifferent. "Sewing is for girls." 

"It was a girl who taught me. Wendy." 

The boy perked up at this. "Is she here?" 

"No." Wendy had been dead for more than thirty years. 

He was moving closer to Stiles, frowning. "Paige?" 

Great-grandmother Jane's youngest sister. "No." 

The boy was a few feet away from Stiles now, still throttling his errant shadow from time to time. He took in the cold fireplace, the stripped beds. "Jenny?" 

Mom's sister; in the family album, the two could have been twins. "No." He held up the sewing kit, desperate to get back on track, but the boy was relentless. He prowled closer, and Stiles dropped his hands into his lap and made himself sit very still. 

"Allison?" 

Tears pricked at his eyes. "No," Stiles choked out. 

This close, the description in Great-great-grandmother Wendy's diary was spot on: lively green eyes, the shining face. This was Wendy's Peter, but Paige's Aiden, and Jenny's Ethan. Always two syllables, always. 

Stiles' sister knew him as Isaac, had drawn pictures of him from the age of nine. _A bit old for an imaginary friend_ , the school psychologist had offered, so she'd learned to hide the drawings, stopped recounting her dreams. Stiles hadn't read Wendy's diaries yet, hadn't known -- 

"Allison's good with a bow," the boy said, as if it pained him. 

Allie had been brilliant with a bow, an early Olympic hopeful at only fourteen. But she'd died, entirely too young and in her sleep. Same as Jenny, same as Paige. Their parents couldn't bear the thought of an autopsy; even if they'd consented, what could the results have shown? So his sister, who could outrun anything, was thought to have had the same congenital heart defect that haunted the Darling line. 

And despite everything, despite missing Allison like a limb, Stiles had hoped she was with him. Lost to this world, but off having adventures in the place Wendy had described as being an island 'out looking for them.' A Neverland full of lovely, adolescent girls, forever young and laughing. But if he was here, and asking after each of them... 

Stiles would love to know what was so special about Wendy. Why she was spared. 

He found he couldn't speak, so he just rattled the sewing kit. 

The boy sighed and moved to sit beside him, the shadow finally pliant. He narrowed his eyes while Stiles threaded the needle, sat quietly with clenched teeth while Stiles lifted the edge of the shadow and sewed it closely to the boy's own foot. 

When he was nearly finished, Stiles took a deep breath and said, "Wendy told me you like bedtime stories." 

The boy nodded, looking interested for the first time. "Not girl stories, though." 

Stiles made himself laugh. "The story I have in mind is very gory. The essence of violence." He tied off the thread, put the needle away.

The boy mouthed the words _essence of violence_ and smiled with too many teeth. He nodded again. 

"I'll get the book," Stiles said, starting to stand up. 

The boy grabbed his arm, suddenly suspicious. "What good is a story from a book?" The touch was like ice, even in the cold room. Stiles closed the sewing case, stuffing it in a pocket. 

"The best story, I promise. Many twists and turns, so I wrote them down." Stiles looked at that beautiful, inhuman face, felt the nails pressing through his sleeve. The shadow was starting to stir again. "Unless you think the best story ever might be too difficult for you to follow..." 

Its eyes shifted from green to blue, but it let go of Stiles' arm. 

So Stiles got up, and stepped outside the pentacle carved on the floor. 

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Stiles is a descendant of Wendy Darling, and Derek-as-Peter-Pan is the demon that's been stalking the family for over a century.
> 
> If you like my writing, there's always my [blog](http://hessianliketheboot.tumblr.com/).


End file.
